


Hunted

by run_sure_footed



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: (But he's fine don't worry), Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24970195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: The Newton Wolves catch Jamack
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Hunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueOatmeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Watershed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23747533) by [BlueOatmeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOatmeal/pseuds/BlueOatmeal). 



A howl in the distance. Another, in the opposite direction. Howls all around him in the dark.

Newton Wolves. Just what he needed.

Jamack started running, but he was no common forest creature. He stepped on every crinkly leaf and tripped over ever rock and generally made as much noise as a Mega as he trampled through the forest. All the while, the howls drew nearer. And nearer. Staying just out of sight. Tormenting him. Trying to make him afraid. Well, it was working. At any moment he expected to feel teeth tearing his suit, around his leg, crushing his spine… He had to fight the instincts he kept smothered in his suit and laced up in his shoes, millions of years of suppressed, primitive urges that tried to seduce him into blind panic. Into finding the closest body of water—and oh, he could feel where it was, no doubt about that—and imagining he’d be safe there. Into just stopping and _screaming_ at the Wolves as though that would do a damn bit of good besides giving them something to laugh about as they used his bones as toothpicks.

He wouldn’t. He _wouldn’t_. He was in control of himself, of his body, of his actions. He wasn’t a frog, or not just a frog. He was more. He was a Mod Frog. Sure, they’d clipped his tie and kicked him out, but they couldn’t take away who and what he was. If he died, it would be on his terms, not as a screaming animal.

His heart was pounding. He was already panting. His instincts screamed for him to take off his suit and let his skin breathe, though of course he would never do such a barbaric thing.

He was finally reduced to hopping on all fours, faster and more efficient than running on just two legs… Though there was something wonderful about it, he could admit to himself—pushing off with his arms before tucking them tight to his body, and the thrill, the sheer primal _thrill_ of using his legs to their full potential in a way he’d rarely indulged in his adult life. Never outside of combat. Bunching them beneath him and then straightening them with explosive force, each jump launching him far across the forest floor.

He wouldn’t have done it if anyone was around to see him, but he didn’t think the Wolves were that close. Not yet.

“Wait,” he said aloud—though quietly. He stopped. Running from the Wolves was stupid. For one thing, they were faster than him. He could hop ahead of them a short distance, but frogs weren’t built for stamina.

More importantly... The Wolves considered themselves geniuses, but they were actually pretty dumb when it came to practical matters. Knowing a lot didn’t do you much good in the real world, and the real world was _Jamack’s_ world. He had no reason to fear a pack of nerdy canines.

He straightened his cropped tie as best he could, carefully tucking the snipped end into his coat. He pulled the coat up and the tie down as far as he could.

There wasn’t much he could do about his ripped suit, so he leaned against a tree, arms across his chest, as casually as he could. Hopefully the deeper darkness beneath the canopy would hide the poor shape he was in. If not, he was sure he could charm his way out.

He waited. He wasn’t afraid. He had nothing to fear. As far as they knew, he was just another Mod Frog, under the Boss’s protection. He was just passing through the Wolves’ territory, which was allowed.

More howls. The Wolves kept playing their silly little game, trying to get him to break and run again.

Finally the howls stopped, either because they got bored or they’d realized he wasn’t afraid of them. They made some token rustling in the bushes on all sides of him before finally appearing, but their hearts didn’t really seem in it.

He was still calmly leaning against the tree when they came into view. He barely looked up at them. They were beneath him. He examined a small stain on his sleeve as though it was the biggest problem in his life right now.

The Wolves all glanced at each other, not sure what to do in this situation without an alpha to guide them. Their prey wasn’t running. It was just standing there.

Jamack waved a hand dismissively. “That’s right, you can all go home—though that was a delightful workout.” He graced them with his most charming grin, letting them get just a little taste of how great it was to be in his presence.

The Wolves, still clearly leaderless, just stared at each other.

One finally showed some initiative and approached him, sniffing loudly.

Mammals. Disgusting.

“You don’t _smell_ like a Mod Frog.”

“Well, thank you for reminding me of that! I’ve been walking in this damn forest all day, so excuse me if I don’t smell my best!”

The Wolf briefly backed down, then stepped even closer. It was all Jamack could do to not press himself against the tree. That would be showing weakness, and he knew the Wolves would exploit it.

“What are you doing here, Mod Frog?”

Jamack gave an elegant shrug. “Just passing through. Boss says, ‘Hop,’ I ask—”

“Where’s your dragonfly?”

Jamack knew he had only the length of a blink to come up with an answer. Better make it count. _Blink._ “They gave me one of the new nymphs to train, because I’m really good at training those things. It was a little wilder than I was expecting and it bucked me off, but I saw it flying towards the observatory.” _Phew._ He’d been worried for a second there, but the Wolf’s question had actually made his story more solid.

The Wolf in front of him nodded, clearly satisfied by his explanation, but one of the others narrowed his eyes.

Jamack began silently calculating things like angles and windspeed so he’d be ready to escape in any direction.

“I don’t _smell_ dragonfly. And I learned something interesting recently,” the frowning Wolf said.

Tails wagging, the other Wolves turned their attention to him, always eager for knowledge.

It was the perfect moment for his escape. They were all distracted, and he didn’t think the Wolf addressing them wanted to give Jamack a medal. No, this looked like it could be trouble. Jamack wanted to get as far from trouble as possible, at least until it found him again. Such was his life. He just wanted what every frog wanted in life: cars, dragonflies, a private pool to soak in, exquisite clothing, the finest food, but, no. Everything was complicated. Ever since he was a tadpole.

It took him only seconds to calculate his first, most-important jump. He was fast.

The Wolves were faster.

His still-shiny shoes (he could at least keep those looking beautiful even though he’d lost everything else, at least until they got holes in them) had barely left the ground when he felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He shot his tongue at the lowest tree branch, but he was yanked down and back until he was flat on his back in the dirt with a Newton Wolf on top of him. Great. More filth on his suit, and he thought he’d heard another rip. Just _great_.

He felt his tongue reach the tree, but he couldn’t break free and use it to pull himself to safety. Then he had to drag it back through leaves and pine needles and all the rest of that nature garbage. He spat out as much as he could, but he knew only water would get it completely clean. The fact that most of the debris ended up on the Wolf on top of him was just a coincidence, of course.

The Wolf growled. He slowly lowered his muzzle toward Jamack’s face, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stop?” one of the other Wolves said, half-command, half-question.

Jamack rolled his eyes. The whole ‘pack’ and ‘alpha’ thing was truly idiotic—but he might be able to use it to his advantage, play them against each other. At least until Billions or Billions showed up.

“I heard a Mod Frog got kicked out.” The Wolf who’d attracted all the others stepped in front of Jamack. It was probably an accident that his paw ended up on Jamack’s foot, right? Just a little misunderstanding to clear up.

“Kicked out? That’s—” Jamack shot his tongue at a branch above him, hoping the sudden momentum would shake the Wolf loose.

Again, he felt wood, but this time there was a sudden pain on his _tongue_ before he could use it to propel himself. By rolling his eyes back as far as possible, he could just see a Wolf biting him. Biting his _tongue_!

 _Blech. Mammal slobber._ Jamack shuddered.

He recognized the Wolf as Megan from accompanying the Boss to inter-species meetings.

Megan wrapped a paw around his tongue, but released it with her teeth. “Use it and lose it, Frog.” She gave it a firm squeeze, making him give a muffled yelp, then released it.

Eyes watering, he retracted it as quickly as possible, rolling it around in his mouth to soothe it and check for injuries. It didn’t seem like Megan had broken the skin, which was a small relief. Who knew what kind of nasties he could’ve picked up from a _Wolf_?

“Get Billions and Billions,” Megan said. She couldn’t keep the question out of her voice, not being an alpha, but the others nodded.

The Wolf who’d told them to stop attacking him dropped to all fours and ran in the direction of the Observatory.

Looking very pleased with herself, Megan pointed to one of her remaining cohorts. “You. Keep his mouth shut. Make sure he can’t use that tongue again.”

“Just to be clear—you want me to bite it off?”

“No! No. Just keep his mouth shut.”

Jamack struggled, of course, but with the Wolf on top of him pinning down his thin arms and legs, he couldn’t do much more than turn his head from side to side. Moving his left leg hurt.

One of the Wolves knelt behind him, reaching a paw under his chin and forcing his jaw closed.

He thought of all the horrible things he’d do to them once—

No. He’d forgotten again. It was only him. No backup was coming for him. He was alone. His only hope was that the Wolves didn’t know what his cut tie meant.

He hoped the Wolves would get bored and distracted or even leave. Wolves weren’t exactly known for their patience. They weren’t careful ambush predators. They were made for running their prey down.

He came to the uncomfortable realization that he was now in the category of _prey_.

Unfortunately, rather than getting snappy and restless, the Wolves got into a rather heated discussion about...some dumb space thing. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Jamack actually felt himself starting to drift off. Well, being on the run for more than a week, taking shelter wherever he could find it, hadn’t exactly been great for his beauty sleep. And he was on his back.

He was rudely woken by a sharp upward jerk on his head.

Good Billions with glasses bent over him, giving him a good sniff. He smiled, straightening. “Well done, pack. It seems that you have found a dessert for tonight’s hunt.” He howled, and the other Wolves indulged themselves in singing with him for a few minutes.

Jamack cleared his throat, the most sound he could make with that goon of a Wolf as a necklace. It was a good thing he could breathe at least a little through his skin, or he might have been in trouble. Well, _more_ trouble. If that was possible.

Bad Billions glanced at him. “It seems as though our dessert has something to say.”

Jamack tried to nod, barely able to move.

“Let him go—just his head,” Bad Billions quickly added. “If he uses his tongue, kill him.”

The Wolf released his head.

Careful to keep his mouth shut, Jamack immediately tipped his head back, drawing in several deep breaths. “It’s about time! I have a crick in my neck, and you mussed up my—” No, he didn’t want to draw attention to his attire. “Well, never mind that bit. Let me go, or this will end badly for you. All of you,” he told the Wolves with as much dignity as he could muster while flat on his back, wearing a ripped suit and a cut— And pinned under a Wolf.

“Mmm, no. No, I don’t think so,” Bad Billions told him.

“Well, you’re wrong.”

Bad Billions crouched beside him and reached under his jacket.

“Hey! Don’t you know not to touch a Mod Frog’s suit?” He wanted, very badly, to slap the Wolf’s paw away, but of course he couldn’t. To his horror, he realized he was blushing.

“I’m not, though. Am I?” Bad Billions pulled out the end of his clipped tie. “Ah, here it is. My hypothesis is confirmed.”

Jamack turned away as much as he could, which wasn’t far. Except for the Mod Frogs themselves, he hadn’t had to confront anyone about his new...status. And he was hardly in a position to do so now.

Good Billions bent over him again. “Sociology is one of the ‘soft’ sciences, it’s true,” he said dismissively, “but we are also a pack. We understand the need for order and status. And right now,” he grinned down at Jamack, showing every one of his flawless white teeth, “you have none.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. The other Mod Frogs will—”

Good Billions clapped his paws. “Bring the dolly.”

_Oh no. What now?_

One of the Wolves rolled over something on two small wheels. Was it some sort of torture device? A second Wolf holding an armful of straps wasn’t helping his fear. He hadn’t heard of the Newton Wolves playing with their food—beyond the hunt itself—but he’d honestly never really cared enough to learn about their feeding habits.

In the split second between the Wolf on top of him rolling off and another Wolf grabbing his collar from behind to haul him to his feet, Jamack fired his tongue in a desperate final bid for freedom. He almost made it. His tongue wrapped around a tree branch above him. He could hear the Wolves growling and snapping beneath him, but he was on his way up. Back to the top, where he belonged!

Sudden weight on his injured leg and he couldn’t help crying out. His tongue lost its grip and he was falling!

Several Wolves grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. He could barely struggle—he’d hit the ground hard and had the air knocked out of him.

They strapped him to the ‘dolly,’ stuffing a gag in his mouth so he couldn’t use his tongue. Rather than torturing him—at least not yet—they wheeled him up to the observatory.

“Do you think we need to...even the odds a little?” Good Billions asked. “I mean, I’m all for a fair hunt!” he quickly added, “but he can hop! And that tongue of his...”

Bad Billions shook his head. “His left leg is injured. He won’t be hopping anywhere, not for a while. As for the tongue... Well, that just makes the hunt more interesting.”

Jamack managed to spit out the gag after they were gone, for all the good it did him.

They left him to the room with the telescope. It made Jamack think, wistfully, of the now-ruined telescope in his former office. Great. He could stare at a memory of his best days while he waited for mammals to eat him.

At least he was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I look up videos of frogs hopping in slow motion? 
> 
> Yes, yes I did.


End file.
